


Letters from a new home

by caixa



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assault, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Haunted Houses, Homophobic Language, Immigration & Emigration, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Supernatural Elements, The Canes Exchange 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caixa/pseuds/caixa
Summary: Something in the old house that Noah and Haydn are renovating as their home is keeping Haydn awake.What does it have to do with two young men who sailed towards America in the 19th century?





	Letters from a new home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bicroft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicroft/gifts).



> I want to thank the organizers for creating this exchange. Our team deserves all the attention and love great fanfic can express.  
> Bicroft/sidsknees, I hope you enjoy this story! It is an historical AU, a few decades later than your preferred era, but I hope it at least tangentially meets your interests.  
> For those who might need it, I give more detailed warnings of possibly triggering topics in the end notes. Feel free to suggest more or point out errors. 
> 
> Bon voyage!

 

* * *

 

”Not sleeping again, Haydn?”

Noah props himself up with his elbows in the murky bedroom where the smells of fresh wood and drying wallpaper paste still linger in the air. He sees Haydn’s eyes gleaming in the darkness, looking up at the ceiling, a hint of uneasiness in the shadows under them, blinking after hearing Noah’s question.

”So-sorry,” Haydn says. ”I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Noah yawns, running a hand through his messy hair. He squints to check the time on his phone screen on the nightstand: 02:04.

”Don’t say you’re sorry, Haydn!” he says. ”I mean, babe, sure, you toss and turn and I can’t help noticing it, but I don’t want your apologies. I’d rather know what’s keeping you up. Something’s bothering you, Haydn. You never lose sleep unless it’s for a reason.”

Noah’s eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to see Haydn frown uneasily, pursed lips moving like he’s trying hard to form a thought, or to decide if he wants to speak or not.

”Haydn?”

”It’s nothing.”

Noah huffs with one corner of his mouth.

”Bullshit, babe. It’s not nothing.”

Haydn inhales slowly through his nostrils, shutting his eyes.

”It may be nothing. At least it’s stupid. Okay? Could we just sleep?”

Noah can’t help turning to his side and nuzzling Haydn’s cheekbone with his nose.

”Yeah, we could. If you would sleep. But you won’t. So you gotta speak up.”

Haydn tilts his head from side to side on the pillow. When he stops, he looks up at Noah in the darkness.

”Can we talk in the morning?” he asks. God, how can his eyes look so huge and blue and pleading despite the lack of light? Haydn bites his bottom lip and draws his finger across Noah’s cheek. ”And meanwhile, since neither of us is sleeping anyway…”

Noah takes the hint and shuts his boyfriend up with a kiss.

 

* * *

 

**Helsinki, September the 1st, 1891**

__

_**Dear Ma, Pa, folks at home,** _

__

_I’m in Helsinki, safe and sound. The sail along the coast was quite easy which is good because crossing the big seas will be something different. We hit some harsh weather north of Vaasa and the older men said they had never seen a first-timer handle the swell so well. I was not seasick at all. The archipelago around Turku took some navigating but I did none of that. It is in any case interesting to see how the seasoned seamen work._

_I got paid by the tar boat captain the fair share he promised. With that on top of the savings I can now pay for the steerage class fare on the steamliner. It covers for the fare from here to Hull, England, and the train from Hull to Liverpool, and the fare from Liverpool to New York._

_I will wait until tomorrow to mail this. If something new comes up I will continue on this same paper. If not, this will be my last letter before I embark on my big journey. Please pray for my safe voyage. I will send a letter from America and enclose an address where I will be reached as soon as I know where I will be staying. I think this will take a month from now if I can get the letter on board with the returning ship. The trip from Finland to England is 4 or 5 days long and to America it will take at least ten days more._

_I hope you will stay in good health._

 

_yours,_

_Sebastian_

* * *

 

Noah looks at Haydn in anticipation. Haydn pretends to ignore it, places eggs on Noah’s plate, puts the skillet down, pours coffee, all the while humming, seemingly carefree.

”So,” Noah says when Haydn finally stops with his puttering and sits down across the table with his coffee. ”You said we’d talk in the morning. Let’s talk.”

He nudges Haydn’s bare toes under the table with his own, eliciting a demure smile that doesn’t show as much teeth as usual but draws long laugh lines on the familiar cheeks.

Haydn stirs his coffee, looking at the faint curls of steam above the mug.

”D’you ever get any kind of –  _feeling_  of this house, Noah?”

Noah gives a quizzical look around the spacious kitchen – sure, the place is old, but they had it inspected before they closed the deal. He shakes his head and lowers his face to catch Haydn’s eyes with his.

”What do you mean? Like mold?” he asks.

It’s Haydn’s turn to shake his head. ”No, no! I trust the inspection, I don’t mean anything like that.” He finally looks back at Noah. ”I mean more like a –” he shrugs – ” _Presence_ , I guess. Like there is -   he lets out a little huff, like it was uncomfortable to speak those words ”— Something. Somebody. I said it was stupid.”

His face shows such anxiety that Noah extends his hand across the table to put it reassuringly on Haydn’s. He swallows back the joke about checking out the attic for squirrels or under the porch for raccoons – Noah has been with Haydn long enough to know this is not about physical beings.

”Hey, it’s not stupid. It never is. You sense things that I don’t, it’s happened before and it has never been stupid.”

The smallest smile of relief ripples on Haydn’s expressive face. Noah nods and takes his hand back to stick a forkful of eggs in his mouth.

 

”Are you feeling it now?” Noah asks, carrying the ladder to the room where Haydn is already measuring the crown molding to give the freshly papered walls a finishing touch. Haydn has gone silent after the breakfast, but it could be just focusing on the renovation.

Haydn shrugs. ”A bit. It doesn’t really go away at all.”

”How is it?” Noah asks. ”You talked about a presence, something or somebody. Do you like – do you see it? Or hear voices?”

Haydn chuckles. ”Yeah, chains clattering! Boo!” He mimics a generic ghost, lifting his hands in the air.

”No, not like that. It’s more like – you know when you forget your keys or credit card at home and just KNOW you’re missing something until you check and realize what it is? You ever get that feeling?”

Noah thinks for a moment. ”I think I see what you mean.”

”It’s similar, but it’s in here. Inside.” Haydn hands the length of crown molding to Noah who is already standing on the ladder with a nailgun in his hand. ”I mean inside me, and inside this house.”

Noah attaches the molding in three spots until he can’t reach any more, steps down from the ladder and moves it to the next coner to secure the other end.

”I get it,” he says.

Haydn looks down on the next piece he’s cutting, looking only up to hand it to Noah for the second wall.

”Thanks for getting it, Hanny,” he says. ”Thanks for not thinking I’m crazy.”

 

* * *

 

Teuvo climbed the rattling iron ladder, pausing for a moment on the top step, enjoying the sea wind on his face. The breeze carried faint salty drizzle onto his skin and he greeted the cool moisture with gratitude. He turned his head towards the wind for some more, and, after another spray of mist, wiped across his eyes with his hand and stepped up to the deck.

This was what he usually did after his shift in the boiler room. No matter how tired and aching his eyes and muscles were from shoveling coal into the furnaces, he never headed straight back to his bunk. No: his body yearned fresh air, no matter what the time or how the weather was. He would come out to see the starry sky, or to balance on a slippery, rocking deck, or, sometimes, catch some rays of the sun, so rare for someone who worked day in, day out down under the engine room.

The deck was almost empty. It was no wonder: it was late night, the dinner had already been served, and the passengers had mostly drawn to their cabins for the night. The only form of life Teuvo could see was a lone figure: a fit-looking young man, maybe his age, leaning to the railing, looking out at the gloomy sea, his back to the wind Teuvo had faced just moments ago.

Teuvo buried his hands deep in his pockets and did his best to duck his head down between his shoulders. He knew seamen were not allowed to spend time on passengers’ promenade decks – not even that of the third class.

The stranger lifted his head to the approaching steps, met Teuvo’s eyes with his and greeted him with a friendly nod of his head – in silence, though; he didn’t say a word, nor did he tip his worn and weathered cap at Teuvo.

“Late night stroll?” Teuvo heard the words almost behind his back as he was already passing the stranger. The boy sounded young; he spoke Finnish, in a dialect Teuvo placed in his head somewhere up north, along the coast of the Gulf of Bothnia, his voice soft, a bit nasal.

Teuvo stopped and took a place by the railing next to the boy. The routine of the boiler room was tedious and in its constant noise it was not a sociable environment at all. An opportunity to exchange a few words with someone new was refreshing and Teuvo decided to take the risk that the passenger would sneer at him, realizing he was only a stoker.

“Well, yes. A little bit of fresh air before bedtime.”

The passenger let out a short snort of a laughter. “Tell me about it! The air in the sleeping quarters tends to be… quite heavy. One man in our cabin has been seasick for two days. I try to keep outside as much as possible, only going in when I know I’m simply going to crash and fall asleep, too tired to smell anything.”

Teuvo chuckled. “It’s like that sometimes.”

The passenger turned towards Teuvo and studied his face in the dim light from inside the ship. The boy’s stance was calm but his eyes moved very vividly, criss-crossing over Teuvo’s face. A demure smirk started to spread on the boyish, defined little face.

“What’s wrong?” Teuvo asked.

“What have you been doing? You look like you’d been working on a tar kiln for a day,” the boy said.

“I…” Teuvo started, wiping his forehead. Of course he looked ridiculous and dirty, but being one of the invisible ones on the ship, he never really paid attention to how the coal dust stuck to his skin throughout the day. He probably had a couple of lighter stripes across his face at eye level, where he had wiped the moisture off his skin. “It’s from work,” he said bashfully. ”In the boiler room. I’m a stoker.”

The passenger’s face lit up. “So, you’re keeping the propellers running! Good work.”

A surprised smile seeped onto Teuvo’s baffled face. He had been prepared to beg the passenger not to turn him in for coming to the deck, but this was quite the opposite. He had never heard anyone acknowledge his work on the ship, not even other sailors.

“I guess we do our part,” he mumbled, shrugging. “You know, it’s just shoveling coal, but… thanks.”

The stranger tilted his head from side to side. “Work is work,” he stated simply. “It is what it is.”

Teuvo sensed no pity at him in the passenger’s words, no glorification either. It was like the kid knew where he was coming from, and on the other hand, why wouldn’t he. Teuvo knew quite well that their ship mainly carried emigrants who had background of working hard in the old country they left in hope of something better, and usually ended up working just as hard across the ocean: sweating and coughing in copper mines, breaking their backs as lumberjacks.

“It is what it is,” Teuvo replied.

He wondered if he had stayed by the passenger for too long already, but he didn’t feel inclined to leave. A moment of silence fell between them but it didn’t seem like an end to the conversation, more like a comfortable pause. The boy looked out on the vast stretch of waves disappearing into the horizon, and Teuvo stole glances at his silhouette.

“So,” Teuvo broke the silence, “Are you traveling all the way?”

“You mean am I continuing to America from England? Yes.” The boy blew air out from between his lips. “Oh boy. Another week, or more. I’ve been on this ship only for what, three days now and I have never been so bored in my life. I mean all I can do is just… _travel._ I wasn’t made to just sit around doing nothing.” The expression on his face changed rapidly as he turned to Teuvo. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like that!” he said, eyes wide with embarrassment. “I mean, you –“ he gestured towards Teuvo –“You certainly wouldn’t complain about not having to toil like that, and I…”

Teuvo chuckled reassuringly at the boy’s lack of words. “I don’t mind,” he said. “At least I’m the one of us who gets paid for being on board.”

 

* * *

 

A few days later Haydn leans over Noah’s shoulder.

“Oh, you’re watching that guy!” he sounds surprised as he looks at Noah’s laptop.

Noah lifts his eyes at Haydn, gaze lingering for a moment on the bags under his boyfriend’s eyes. The nights have been as sleepless as before although Haydn has tried hard to hide it.

“Well, yeah,” Noah replies. “I’ve seen you watching his show so I looked him up.”

On his screen, a curly-haired man in his forties is giving an interview in a low-budget talk-show of some small local channel.

 _“The most usual critique towards your work, professor Williams, is to say that you’re obsessed with ghosts. How do you respond to it?”_ the host asks.

The curls bounce as the guest tilts his head sideways and looks his interviewer in the eye.

 _“If you read any of my published studies, you will know they are no ghost stories. They are valid looks into the history. ‘Ghosts’ is what other people read into my work; it is not what I have written in there. But, you know –“_ professor Williams points at the host _“What are we looking for when we look at history? People. Fellow human beings from the past, their voices. I study local history, I specialize in buildings, locations, but not for brick or wood or stone or architecture. There are fine scholars who are far better with those than I am. I ask: who lived here? How was their life? I track them with the help of documents, artifacts, archives. It is hard work but it is what I am educated to do. Because I am a historian. And what I am privileged to do, because I am human.”_

Noah pauses the video, pushes his chair back and pulls Haydn down on his lap.

“I hope you don’t mind but I contacted him,” he says.

“Justin Williams? How?”

“Well, you know,” Noah squirms a little under Haydn’s weight but he initiated him sitting in his lap and the last thing he’s going to do is to complain “He has a website with his contact e-mail address. I wrote to him, sent some pictures of the house and told what we know about it. And, well,” Noah looks at Haydn apologetically “—he is coming over tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? That’s soon.”

“Apparently he has free time. I don’t know if it is a good sign that he has but if he’s around, hey - “ Noah tilts his head, stroking Haydn’s back.

“- What’s to lose,” Haydn completes his sentence. He kisses Noah on the top of his head. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Teuvo stayed out on the deck with the passenger until the sea and sky were equally pitch black, just leaning to the railing, chatting away. He had learned that the boy had, despite his seemingly young age, indeed worked a lot of odd jobs up in the Northern Finland: timber rafting down the Oulu River, distilling wood tar, even digging gold with his father on the river banks of Lapland in the summer.

“Some, but not enough to make me rich,” he replied when Teuvo asked if they had come up with any.

“And now you have listened to the songs that tell how in America the streets are paved with gold?” Teuvo teased him.

The boy shrugged and shook his head. “Nah. I know it’s work just like back home. But in the right places the pay is better and…” he looked at Teuvo and said, earnestly, almost like giving out a secret, “I’ve always wanted to see the world. Something more than my home town.”

Teuvo nodded in understanding and went on telling about his life on the sea.

“Do you only sail this route?” the boy asked and Teuvo told no, he had had the opportunity to take a job on the company’s cross-Atlantic liner a couple of times and that was where he was going now, too. There might have been a pleased blink on the boy’s dark eyes when he heard Teuvo say it, but on the other hand, it was too dark to tell if Teuvo had read him right.

They almost parted without introducing themselves. The boy had already taken a step away from Teuvo when he turned around and walked back.

“It was nice talking to you. I hope I’ll catch you again. What’s your name, stoker?”

Teuvo had long forgotten to grovel in front of the passenger and looked him in the eye assertively, offering his hand to a shake.

“Teuvo.”

The boy gave his hand a firm squeeze, nodding politely.

“Nice to meet you, Teuvo. Sebastian.”

 

Teuvo felt like he had extra energy in his arms during the next shift. He couldn’t wait to get out to the deck at the end of it; the thought of even the slightest chance of getting back to the comfortable camaraderie he had suddenly found with the accidental new acquaintance won over fatigue.

No wonder he couldn’t withhold a groan when the chief stoker came to talk to him merely an hour before the shift was getting to its close.

“Teuvo, you will have to stay for extra hours. Julle and Roope got into a fight last night and the captain has them locked up until midnight,” the boss said.

Teuvo wanted to wail _“why me”_ or “ _why now”_ but he knew begrudging would be to no avail: the hierarchy on the ship was iron cast. Instead, he muttered “ _yes, sir_ ” and grabbed the handles of a wheelbarrow.

 

At midnight his legs barely supported him but he couldn’t give up his routine. He climbed up the ladder to the deck, pulling himself up as much with his hands on the handrailing as using the force of his feet.

It was empty. Of course it was.

He stood on the uppermost step of the ladder, the wind in his hair, pondering whether to return to crash into his bunk like a piece of timber or to take the last step up onto the deck when he heard a voice from the shadows.

“Teuvo!” The call was soft, a bit raspy, like Sebastian was very tired or worked to keep his voice down.

Now Teuvo could see movement close to the wall, in a snug corner by a large box. Sebastian was getting up from a slouched, half-sitting position in stiff, labored moves, adjusting his legs to the slight movement of the ship.

Teuvo approached him. “You’re late out here.”

Sebastian rolled his shoulders. “Remember what I said, I try to stay out of my cabin for as long as I can. That other guy is no less seasick today.” He yawned, eyes squinting. “You’re up pretty late too.”

“Had to stay extra. We were short staffed.”

 _Did you stay up out here for me?_  The question flickered like a quiet flame in the back of Teuvo’s mind but he didn’t even dream to let it take form on his lips.

“We might reach Hull tomorrow,” he said instead.

That drew a rippling smile on Sebastian’s lips, although Teuvo could barely see the expression in the faint light.

“Nice,” Sebastian said. “Will you take the same train to Liverpool?”

“I think so.”

Sebastian smiled, this time he definitely smiled.

“Good. I will find you there. It’s so much better to travel with somebody to talk to.”

 

* * *

 

Justin Williams has a reputation, Noah knows it. It’s a reputation the professor publicly fights against but at the same time thrives on. Noah has read enough interviews where the man has stressed that the title of his short documentary series and his book, _Haunted Houses of the Carolinas_ , was imposed on him by the broadcaster and the publisher – but never has he told what he would have named it either.

It doesn’t really come out in the series or on the pages of the book, but several people whose homes Willliams has written about claim to have got actual help from his work. They are better at ease when they have come to terms with the past life of their house, sometimes after removing disturbing objects from the premises—in what way precisely, that is very vague in the reader comments Noah has managed to find.

In any case, that’s what Noah is looking for – peace, reassurance. Or, at least a solution of some kind. Their dream is to make the old house their home but if it’s impossible for Haydn to live there comfortably, they still have time to adjust their plans.

 

The man who gives a sharp knock on their door the next day - they haven’t installed a new doorbell yet - has a slightly contradictory aura about him. He seems friendly but sharp, laid-back but professional, relaxed but straightforward.

“Welcome, professor Williams! Glad you could make it on such a short notice. I’m Noah, I e-mailed you – and this is Haydn, my boyfriend.”

Williams shakes their hands, looking Haydn in the eye slightly longer than Noah as he greets him, his eyes curious, tentative.

“Nice to meet you. And the pleasure is all mine, thanks for the chance to see this place.”

Williams prefers to start with a tour around the house, nodding approvingly at the details they have been able to finish.

“So, Noah, you told this was an old boarding house?”

“Yes”, Noah nods, “It has been working up to the 60’s, and it was a private home until 1990’s but has been empty until we moved in. Originally it had a larger plot of land around it – it was not only a boarding house, but also a working tobacco farm.”

“A plantation?”

Haydn widens his eyes. “No way a plantation! I don’t think I would have survived this long with the vibes.” He pauses abruptly, surprised at how easily the words escaped his lips in front of Williams. Williams doesn’t seem taken aback at all.

“I know,” Williams says very simply. “Slavery leaves a mark on a place. The spirits of pain, grief and injustice linger long.”

Haydn nods in agreement.

“Some of the land was purchased from a plantation that was split and sold, but the house was built after the civil war era, in the 1880’s,” Noah tells. “The founders of the farm were originally from Canada. They started growing tobacco from small, started the boarding house on the side, and grew the farm gradually. The later owners have done the opposite, sold the fields bit by bit. Now the lot is basically just the garden around the house. But that’s fine with us.”

Justin Williams walks around, eyeing the walls, peeking out of the windows of both floors. He listens to the creak of some of the steps of the staircase, quietly smirking at it like at a memory.

“The first owners were Canadian, you said. You had their names on the e-mail you sent me, and I think you sent the names of the later owners, too?” Williams says between sips of sweet tea after they have sat down in the kitchen.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Do you know anything about the other residents? Did the boarding house have staff who would have lived here, or did they have people on long-term accommodation?”

Noah and Haydn look at each other and shake their heads.

“None that I know of. Surely there have been but I’m not sure if any records are left any more. There were no papers left here from those ages. I mean when this was a boarding house,” Noah says.

“Sadly,” Haydn adds.

Williams nods his head several times and sips his tea looking pensively ahead. He finishes it, places the glass on the table and looks at Noah and Haydn.

“I could come back after weekend, if that’s okay with you guys? I’d like to bring along my assistant who has expertise on… certain issues. Mainly emigration and immigration, but... on methodology, too.  I could check when he’s free. Are you around on Monday? Tuesday?”

Haydn and Noah look at each other again.

“I don’t remember that there’s anything special,” Haydn says.

“Either day is fine,” adds Noah.

 

* * *

 

Teuvo threw his duffel bag on his shoulder as he disembarked in Hull with other sailors. He reflexively glanced at the backs of the passengers who had already left the ship and were slowly milling out of the harbor area towards the train station.

He saw a head with a distressed grey cap bobbing up from the crowd and couldn’t help his heart taking an extra beat when he unmistakably recognized it as Sebastian. He saw Sebastian spot him and wave his hand, and instinctively hurried his step.

The train was crowded, and they soon gave up even trying to look for seats and spent the cross-contry ride on the floor of the aisle, Sebastian sitting on his dusty plywood suitcase, Teuvo leaning to his sailor’s duffel bag.

Their ways parted in Liverpool: Teuvo boarded early with sailors while Sebastian was stuck in the check-in-line. On board the routine kicked in immediately: Teuvo received the orders for his shifts in the fire room and shoved his belongings to his bunk.

He was happy he wasn’t assigned to the first shift. He found a spot for himself on a short stretch of the aft deck, looking over the port where people were waving their farewells to the passengers. He gazed up the side of the ship, the white handkerchiefs in the gloved hands of the first class passengers up high, exhilarated and teared screams in the air, tooting horns, rattling chains.

He kept looking and finally noticed, in the furthest corner of the steerage class deck, Sebastian leaning over the railing, waving his old cap in the air, hair flopping onto his forehead, an anticipating grin on his face.

Teuvo smiled, content and reassured.

 

It took almost three days until he could reach Sebastian on the larger ship. The boiler room shifts didn’t favor sneaking onto the passenger deck that stayed crowded, but on the third night he headed out after the lights were out in the sleeping quarters.

Sebastian was there, by the railing like on the first time Teuvo had seen him, dark shadows on his face under the starry, moonlit sky.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Sebastian said.

Teuvo leaned his forearms to the railing next to him. “I’ve been busy.”

“I haven’t,” Sebastian chuckled.

“How’s the steerage life treating you?” Teuvo asked.

Sebastian shrugged. “The bunks are just as crampy as on the first ship. Food is worse but portions are bigger.”

“Sounds balanced.”

Sebastian smirked, lowered his voice and looked Teuvo in the eye. “I might have a problem. This girl has been eyeing me over mealtimes. We had a dance last night, there are some mean fiddlers on board, and she got really close when I waltzed her. She asked if I’d care to go out for a walk on the promenade deck and we went. She leaned to my arm, and before we got back inside she paused, stayed still, and looked at me. I think she expected me to kiss her. But I didn’t. What if she asks again? Or expects me to ask her?”

Teuvo couldn’t help feeling his heart sink a bit. “Do you know anything about her?” he asked.

“She travels alone, in the single women’s section. She’s Finnish, that much I know, and she has a job waiting for her as a maid.”

“Do you like her? Is she pretty?”

Sebastian squirmed. “She’s a girl,” he said vaguely. He pushed himself off the railing and strolled slowly to the wall. Teuvo followed him.

Sebastian turned towards him. “What if she wants to kiss me?”

The question was close to absurd but Sebastian’s brown eyes looked very sincere in the night.

“If you want to, you should kiss her, I think.”

“I –“ Sebastian paused, looked down, rubbing his lips together and looked back at Teuvo “How will I make it good?”

Teuvo wanted to ask _haven’t you kissed anyone?_ but he was afraid the question would make Sebastian embarrassed.

“Well,“ he looked at Sebastian’s chapped lips, “If it’s the first time, it can be short and light, just a touch. Do it softly. Try to keep your lips relaxed. Just be gentle and don’t rush.”

Sebastian nodded and, very lightly, placed his hand on Teuvo’s sleeve.

“Could you show me?” the shy plea in Sebastian’s eyes had a hint of insecurity but a large dose of sincerity.

Teuvo rubbed his lips together. They were just as chapped as Sebastian’s, he felt a hard callus on his bottom lip, but like hell he would decline. He stepped closer, in Sebastian’s space, and gently brushed Sebastian’s bottom lip with his thumb.

“You mean like this?” he asked and Sebastian nodded.

“Relax,” Teuvo said, and felt Sebastian’s face soften, his lips part slightly. “Yes. like that,” he whispered and leaned in, catching Sebastian’s bottom lip between his, then nudging his upper lip softly with his, and finally tilting his head to press a soft, chaste kiss across his mouth.

Sebastian smirked demurely as he pulled back and sucked his lips softly as if to taste the kiss on them.

“Thank you, Teuvo,” he said and gave Teuvo’s arm a soft squeeze before fleeing inside.

 

* * *

 

Justin Williams’ assistant is a quiet blond man, notably younger than the professor. He barely utters his greetings shaking Noah’s and Haydn’s hands as Williams introduces them to each other.

“Valentin Zykov,” Williams says. “We’re very lucky to have him with us. Moved from Moscow a couple of years ago.”

Between the visits, Noah has managed to track down the last owners of the house but they haven’t been able to tell anything out of the ordinary from the years they lived in there, or from what they had heard from the days the house last served as a boarding house.

Williams has done some quick research of his own. He digs out an iPad and scrolls through a document until he stops at a picture of a newspaper page, zooms in and hands it to Noah and Haydn.

“That’s one of the founders whose name you already know”, he says, tapping the frame of the pad Noah is holding. “Jeffrey Skinner.”

Haydn looks through the short obituary, dated in 1950. Jeffrey “Jeff” Skinner has died at the age of 90, a farmer and boarding house owner with his long-time business partner and friend Eric Staal. Migrated from Canada to North Carolina, a warmly remembered member of the community, grown their business gradually, employed workers from many nationalities.

There is another newspaper article, a feature of the history of the building, two blond men on the front porch of the house in an old black and white photograph; the caption says it’s from the turn of the century.

“They are the ones who built this house, Skinner and Staal,” Williams says.

“Friends and business partners,” Haydn mutters, stifling an urge to break into a face-splitting smile Noah registers very well. It’s nice to see Haydn smile like that despite his fatigue. “Oh man. I’m happy for them.”

Williams smiles.

“Do you mind if I take a look around with Zykov?” he asks. “I’d like to hear his opinion of the house. We’ll come and ask you if we need help.”

“Sure,” Noah says.

 

Noah and Haydn watch from a distance, as much as they manage through open doors, not following their guests too obviously, as Williams and Zykov stroll through the rooms. The visitors stop occasionally to talk with bowed heads, lowered voices, occasionally Zykov just stands still, closing his eyes, arms hanging on his sides.

Noah and Haydn share a glance, shrug and shake their heads.

 

“I have a suggestion,” Williams says finally, as the odd duo descends from upstairs.

“We’re all ears,” Noah replies. He is growing a bit suspicious but holds it back. Williams has been nothing but helpful so far.

“Valentin has a gift for – _sensing_ things from places that have something to say to us. He does fine work with traditional methods, but in addition to that – well, he is surprisingly accurate when the documents fail. It’s been of great help in getting on the tracks of what happened to some persons in the former Soviet Union when the official registers didn’t necessarily hold the most correct information,” he says.

“And your suggestion is?” Noah prompts.

“If it’s okay with you, it would be of great help if Valentin could stay here overnight. You can stay here yourselves, but you would need to keep quiet, and you would have to be okay with him getting up and walking around occasionally, possibly all night.”

“And this is because…?”

“If the house has something to tell,” Williams says and adds, looking at Haydn, “As it apparently has, he will hear it. And he will listen. And tell us.”

 

Noah and Haydn don’t really have money for a night out, although it would be a tempting thought to take a short trip to Charlotte, watch some basketball and relax in the ironed sheets of a hotel room.

“Like hell we will let a stranger spend the night here all by himself,” Noah utters to Haydn in lowered voice. “I know I’m the one who invited the guy here but it sure sounds like such a scam right now. We’ll find the house emptied out totally if we don’t watch over.”

“Fine with me,” Haydn says tiredly. “I wouldn’t sleep anyway.”

 

* * *

 

“Did you kiss her yet?” Teuvo asked Sebastian the next night. They were not alone on the deck: a family strolled by, the mother trying to soothe a crying and coughing infant. Their presence made Teuvo uneasy and he had lowered his voice down to a whisper.

Sebastian gave him a bashful look. “I’ve been avoiding her, to be honest,” he whispered. “I feel you set the bar so high. If I kiss her like that she will want more.”

Teuvo could barely withhold a half-embarrassed burst of laughter. Sebastian’s notion certainly threw him off balance and he felt a blush creeping up his cheeks.

The infant had stopped crying. Her breath was still a heavy rhonchus but it sounded steady, and the family headed inside.

“Maybe you should teach me more,” Sebastian said, “In case she wants to be kissed for real.”

Teuvo’s heart pounded so hard he was sure he could hear the blood flow in his ears.

“Maybe we should find a more private place,” he whispered.

“Show me. I’ll follow,” Sebastian answered.

Teuvo led them through a series of stairs and ladders, used normally only by the crew, some only in emergency, until he got them to safe nook on the upper deck, between large air vents and one of the funnels, only the moon and stars above them.

“Show me. I’ll follow,” Sebastian said again, whispering, and to Teuvo his voice sounded like velvet.

He grabbed Sebastian’s upper arms and pulled him closer.

“Remember, soft lips,” he said and brushed Sebastian’s lip with his thumb, just like the night before. And, just like the night before, gently kissed his bottom lip, his upper lip, his whole mouth. Sebastian followed along, lips parting for, closing around, pressing against his, chapped but soft and warm.

“You’re a quick learner,” Teuvo hummed.

“And ready for lesson two,” Sebastian replied with a sly smile.

Teuvo dug his fingers deep among Sebastian’s hair, pulling him, if possible, even closer. He licked along the seam of Sebastian’s lips that opened for his tongue, so moist and warm, joining in the dance, forcing his own lips part even more. Sebastian’s hand caressed his head, his hairline, his neck, the other clutched the back of his shoulder, fingers sinking into his dirty workshirt. The kiss was so deep, exploring and passionate it was close to dizzying; Teuvo couldn’t remember when he had last felt so good.

“Oh,” he panted when he broke the kiss for breath, leaving his hand on the nape of Sebastian’s neck, forehead leaning against his, “You’re definitely getting her in trouble with that.”

“Why is that,” Sebastian whispered, just as out of breath.

“You can’t go to her sleeping quarters, can you? Or take her to yours. Kisses like that may have… consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?”

Teuvo ran his thumb on Sebastian’s skin, and chased his lips with his own, taking little nibbles of the edges.

“It might cause some things happening –“ he bit his own bottom lip, then, just to experiment, grazed Sebastian’s with his teeth  “—Down there, if you, uhm, know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure. You may have to show me.”

Teuvo just had to laugh softly.

“You’re a sneaky tease, Sebastian.”

Sebastian smiled and planted soft kisses on his cheek, both arms around Teuvo’s neck, slowly rocking his body closer to him.

"What would I have to do then?" Sebastian went on.

"It depends," Teuvo said, working to keep his voice steady, "On how far you're willing to go."

Sebastian kissed him.

"Don't you remember? All the way. You asked it when we first met."

Teuvo chuckled at him. "I thought we were talking about the journey."

"There are many kinds of journeys a man can take."

"Oh boy. You're something, Sebastian."

"I want to touch you."

Teuvo didn't oppose, merely gasped deep, because he next thing he felt were Sebastian's deft fingers unbuttoning his pants, snaking into his drawers. Sebastian swept the head of his cock with a fingertip, wrapped his hand around the shaft, and Teuvo trembled.

"Do you like this?" Sebastian whispered, breath hot and damp on his ear, and he uttered a barely audible _ooh, yes._ The hand was dry, warmed up from their hugging and kissing, Sebastian's tongue slippery and wet in his mouth, and Teuvo had never dared to dream of anything like this happening. Or, more accurately, he had forcibly kept himself from dreaming of anything of sexual nature out on the sea: privacy was so scarce, and while some of his fellow sailors were not too shy to jerk off in the crew quarters when they thought nobody noticed what was going on under the blanket, Teuvo was.

He let go of all sensible thought, concentrating on sensing the hand moving on his cock, the other gripping the bare skin of his waist under his shirt, on reciprocating Sebastian's passionate, almost obscene kiss. He groped blindly with his hand, managed to coax one under Sebastian's jacket and shirt, on the firm, smooth, heaving stomach, when Sebastian picked up the pace and twisted his hand  _just so_ around him, and his whole world just shrunk into one point, and he realized he was biting his teeth into the side of Sebastian's neck, and Sebastian hummed into his ear,  _oh sweet boy, yeah, like that, come for me_ , and he was limp and relaxed and in heaven and in love.

As scary as it was, definitely in love.

 

Next morning brought some unwelcome news.

"Extra hours for everyone until New York. Darls is out injured," one of the other stokers, McGinn, informed Teuvo as he entered the boiler room. "The boss will tell you more."

Teuvo grimaced and waited until the chief rounded up the workers of the day shift. "We'll work extended shifts for the rest of the trip. I'll deal the extra hours to you evenly, should be about every other or every third shift some hours extra. As you may have heard, a full wheelbarrow was knocked down on Darling's foot and fractured his bones. He's out for at least the week we have left."

The crew dispersed to their work with groans. Their contracts were arduous, and thus no extra hours were compensated for in the pay packet they would get in the destination port. It would only mean that the already tiring toil would become even more tedious.

Teuvo got an idea and approached his boss after shoveling the next load brought to him into the furnace.

"Sir, I know a man from steerage who might want to take a job. If you give me the permission, I could ask him if he'd like to step in for Darling."

"Is he up to it? Where do you know him from?"

"I have friends who know him from Finland. I saw him on the train," Teuvo lied. "He's a hard worker! I know he's been on tar boats and timber rafting squads. He's a Finn, name is Aho."

"If he doesn't drink on the job and can keep the coal moving, that's all I'm asking for. If he wants the job, bring him here. I'll send him to the captain to make the contract if he seems all right."

 

Sebastian was immediately up to Teuvo's suggestion. Teuvo's boss barely asked his name; after giving the young man a nonchalant once-over he took it to himself to see him to the captain's office and asked Teuvo along as an interpreter as the newcomer knew only a few words in English.

Sebastian handed the captain his travel documents and his ticket, showing his personal information and the fare he had paid.

"Your working for us is fine by me" the captain said, writing Sebastian's name and the current date on a sheet of paper and copying them to a large log on his desk. "You will be reimbursed half of your fare for your services."

"Half? I think I deserve the whole fare."

Teuvo felt horrified translating Sebastian's demand to the captain. He tried to signal to Sebastian with his eyes to tone down his assertiveness, but Sebastian's face stayed deadpan.

"Mr. Aho, we are over halfway of your whole journey. Stoker's job is tedious, but it is only manual labor that demands next to no skill. You will have two thirds of your fare back."

"Three quarters. And a pay. A daily wage."

"Young man, do you want this job or not?" The captain shook his head and waved his hand in the air. "All right, have the whole price of the ticket. But no pay on top of that. And you'll move your belongings out of the steerage to the crew quarters immediately." He slid the paper over the table to Sebastian's side and handed him his pen. "Can you write your name? Sign here," he said.

Sebastian signed the paper, straightened his back and bowed politely. "Thank you, sir"

"Welcome aboard," the captain answered in spite of himself. As the men exited, he shook his hung head, muttering to himself  _The youngsters these days_.

Sebastian could not have been happier.

 

Sebastian working in the boiler room had a surprisingly great impact on Teuvo’s daily life. He had asked to be scheduled on the same shifts to be able to teach the newcomer the job, but Sebastian took the routine on so easily it was soon like he had been at work for as long as the rest of the stokers. He was a real asset: he was quick and strong, and unlike the more seasoned workers, he still pushed himself like a person who wants to prove himself.

They soon developed a common rhythm to the work. After the first shift working the same task side by side, Sebastian took to hauling coal from the storage bunkers on a wheelbarrow, since he had less experience of working by the furnace. Teuvo was pleased to notice Sebastian handling the mundane, strenuous work at a good pace, keeping an eye on what happened around him, refilling the piles exactly as needed, showing no signs of tiredness or boredom. Moreover, he picked up words of English from the international crew around him every day, absorbing all new knowledge, including the language, like a sponge.

 

“I’m happy you took the job,” Teuvo said when they were lounging after a night shift, at the crack of dawn, at their by now usual spot, on the upper deck between the air vents and funnels, Sebastian on his arms, leaning to him.

Sebastian rubbed his head to his chest. “I’m happy you asked me.”

“We work well together,” Teuvo said. “It’s a shame the sail will be over in a a few days.”

“I know,” Sebastian said. He closed his arms tighter around Teuvo’s resting on his chest, hugging them close. “I don’t want to think about losing you.”

“What if you wouldn’t?” Teuvo suggested warily, his voice wavering cautiously. “You could take a job on the ship. You’re good, the chief stoker and captain would certainly keep you on board.”

Teuvo peeked at Sebastian’s face. Sebastian had loosened his grip of his arm and was stroking it pensively, staring ahead into the thin air.

“No,” Sebastian said eventually, shaking his head with determination, “I got the ticket on this ship for a reason. I wanted to go to America to see what I can make of myself. I can’t quit now. I’m sorry.” He sighed and pressed his cheek tight to Teuvo’s sleeve.

“It’s all right,” Teuvo said.

Sebastian kept stroking his arm but suddenly stopped and turned to look at Teuvo.

“How about you, Teuvo? Do you want to be a sailor for the rest of your life? Have you thought you could do something else?”

Teuvo could see a fire behind Sebastian’s brown eyes gleaming in the rising sun.

“I never thought of it that much. I mean, I don’t think I want to do this forever but I haven’t had anything specific in mind.”

“What if… if we work well together here, we could work well somewhere else, too, don’t you think? I already have a contact in New York, a man who knows where they are interested in hiring Finnish men for a reasonable pay. Two would be better than one in so many ways. It would be safer. We could split many costs and watch out for each other.”

“Only that, huh?”

Sebastian cupped Teuvo’s chin, grabbed it and pulled him to a hard kiss. “Not only that, Teuvo. I know I’m young and I know most people would never approve it but I am in love with you and I’m not ready to let you go.”

He pulled back, like startled by his sudden burst of emotion, but left his hand loosely on Teuvo’s face like he had forgotten it there. Teuvo grabbed it gently by the wrist, and pressed the palm to his face.

“I mean…” Sebastian continued, in a quiet, cautious voice, “If you are willing to see how far this can go, what we could be together, I – I would like to try it.” The determined fire in his eyes was now a flickering plea, searching for answers in Teuvo’s eyes, and when Teuvo realized he hadn’t answered anything, his heart jolted.

“Sebastian. Love, I – I feel the same.”

The flickering flame lit again in Sebastian’s eyes. “Couldn’t you leave the ship with me, then? Hop off on Ellis Island? When I get the fare back, we’ll have a good nest egg to start with.”

“If I desert the ship I’ll lose my wages.”

“When would they pay?”

“In the port.”

“What if you wait until then? Would you come and meet me if I waited for you?”

“More likely like I would wait for you. It's hours before you have come through the immigration lines and doctor check-up on Ellis Island.”

Teuvo realized he sounded like he had already made his decision.

 

* * *

 

“Do you use your attic?” Zykov asks in the morning.

He is all smiles at the breakfast table, letting Haydn serve him tea, toast and eggs. Haydn has a hard time believing it, considering that the young Russian has been up all night. And Haydn has certainly heard it: the footsteps, the creak of the stairs, opening and closing room and closet doors. Yes, it was spooky and no, he can’t blame Noah for being suspicious beforehand.

“Not really, not yet. We don’t need the extra storage right now,” Noah says.

“It was empty when we got the house and needed no work. The last owners had done some paint job and cleaned it, I think all we have had time to do was to dust off some cobwebs,” Haydn adds.

“Yeah, you were supposed to do it but then you saw a spider!” Noah teases and Haydn throws a balled up napkin at him.

“Why are you asking? Did you... _sense_ something about it?”

“I might have. I mean, I certainly got flashes, visions about it, but I couldn’t get up there. I didn’t want to wake you guys up.”

“Oh, sorry!” Haydn throws his hand over his mouth. “We forgot to unlock the door to the stairs for you. You should have come to ask, really.”

Zykov chews his eggs and waves his fork reassuringly. “Never mind. We can go there after the breakfast.”

Haydn feels a sudden wave of excitement bubbling inside him, like a long journey is finally nearing its long awaited end. He wants to get there NOW.

Their guest apparently is in no hurry. Valentin takes another piece of toast, spreads butter and honey on it in calm moves.

“Do you still have that tea?” he asks.

 

When they ( _finally,_ Haydn thinks) get up to the attic, nothing in the space looks out of the ordinary. The windows let in greyish daylight through a veil of dust. Noah switches on the lights attached to the overhead rafts.

Zykov starts walking slowly along the wall, palming the wooden paneling. He walks the whole side wall, stops, returns halfway, halts between two dormers. He squats and runs his hands on the surface.

“Look, there are hinges,” he says, pointing the wall with his finger. “It’s a door but it’s painted over. Do you have a crowbar?”

Noah leaves to fetch one from the tool box downstairs. Haydn stays by Zykov’s side, giddy, his skin tingling as Zykov traces the outline of the door under the paint to detect the other edge.

“Try here,” he advises Noah who returns with the crowbar and a pocket knife.

Noah scrapes the paint to expose the crack, pushes the crowbar in and wrenches the door open. Haydn blinks his eyes to see better into the dark space.

Among the dust there is a chest. It’s made of wood, unpainted apart from some curved lines in the front, metal handles and metal fittings in the corners.

“Don’t touch it!” Zykov warns, lifting his arms to his sides, guarding the old chest like a desired treasure from Haydn and Noah.  “I want Williams here.”

 

* * *

 

**New York, September the 20th, 1891**

__

_**Dear Ma, Pa, folks at home,** _

__

_Greetings from New York, New York, United States of America! This is the biggest town I have ever seen, bigger than I could have ever imagined a place to be. It feels like inside a beehive, people of all colors everywhere you look, buildings that are taller than any tree I have ever seen. And new ones are being built at every corner._

_I am in good company. I met a fellow Finn on the ship, his name is Teuvo Teräväinen and he already knows a lot of English from working as a sailor on many seas. He is a good chap, not at all stuck up for someone from Helsinki. We have been job-hunting together, there is safety in numbers._

_I have found Mr. Rinne, we stopped by his office the day before yesterday and he told us about_ _a logging company that is hiring men for sites in Ontario, Canada. We went again today, he had sent a telegram asking if they are hiring now and got already an answer that yes, healthy young men are welcome to come there. The work will teach us how to do it. I'm confident, I have worked with lumber before, moving trees down the river._

_I have the address to the post office of the town where the company's sawmill is, I will write it on the bottom of the page, under my name. I have heard the mail to the lumberjacks is fetched from there once or twice a week and brought to the lumber camp deeper in the forest. We will travel to the biggest nearby town by train, leaving as early as next week. This has certainly happened fast._

_My prayers and blessings with you. I hope you will stay in good health._

 

_yours,_

_Sebastian_

 

* * *

 

Justin Williams arrives in an hour. In the meantime, Haydn is unable to concentrate on doing anything to pass the time – he paces outside the dark, open closet, goes down the attic stairs to the kitchen just to forget what he was about to do, returns to pace in the upstairs hallway, like guarding the entrance to the attic.

Noah stifles his will to smirk at Haydn’s impatience; he putters around the kitchen cleaning up after the breakfast and checks his email to see if the doorbell he has ordered has been shipped yet.

As soon as Williams gets in he throws his worn-out leather briefcase on a chair in the entrance hall, pockets a small flashlight, digs out thin cotton gloves and pulls them on as he walks up the stairs, handing Zykov another pair.

“Show me the bad boy!” he exclaims, eyes twinkling with curious enthusiasm.

Noah could think of numerous things he would call “bad boy” before a dusty old casket but obliges and joins the other three in the attic.

Williams crouches deep inside the closet to pull the chest to the aisle. He gently sweeps the wooden surface of the convex lid and the front. The painted ornaments form a simple, symmetrical floral pattern surrounding large letters: _S.A._ stands in the middle.

“Initials?” Haydn asks.

Williams nods. “Most likely.”

“They don’t match any of the former owners,” Noah says.

“Could be some other resident,” Williams says. “I’ll try to open it.”

The chest is unlocked; a leather strap attaches the lid to the box as a stopper, and Williams cautiously checks if it holds the weight of the lid. It does.

Williams lifts folds of fabric from the box: they appear to be old clothes.

“This might be interesting,” he says and pulls out a large brown envelope. He peeks inside and whistles. “Yes. We could take this to a better light.”

 

Only moments later the contents of the envelope are scattered on a desk in Noah’s study.

“Take a look at this, Valentin,” Williams says, sliding an unfolded paper under Zykov’s face. Zykov studies the old print and hand-writing, that form very peculiar-looking words, with a focused look.

“It’s a travel document. A certificate from a local authority for a passport. I think it is Finnish.” His eyes run on the lines, until he stops at the bottom of the page. “Here,” he points, not touching the paper, “ _Poliisi_. Police. _Oulu_. It’s a town in Northern Finland.” His finger wanders back to the top. “And this –“ he points at the first of the handwritten lines “—should be his name. Sebastian – I’m not sure of the middle name, Anter-s? Anders? Antero? – Aho.“

“SA,” Noah and Haydn say in unison. Williams nods and slides a folded card to Zykov. It has text on its cover, in Cyrillic and in Latin letters. French is the only language Haydn recognizes.

“This should be the passport,” Williams says.

“Definitely.” Zykov opens it and studies the faded markings. Haydn is most interested in the sepia-shaded photo, a serious kid looking straight at the camera: round eyes, straight, jaw-length hair, middle parting.

“He looks so young,” Haydn observes.

Zykov reads the dates stated in the passport.

“It was issued in 1891. He would have been 18 at the time. Or just turned 19. Most of them were single young men, the emigrants that went to America from that part of Europe.”

“Why is the text also in Cyrillic?” Noah asks.

Zykov lifts his eyes from the passport and looks at him. “Finland was part of Russia at the time. But the local authorities were allowed to use Finnish.”

Williams deals out two photos on the desk. The largest one is horizontal, a picture of a group of men, some holding axes or large saws, in front of a large stack of cut tree trunks. Haydn scans the picture with his eyes until he spots the same face as in the passport. He is leaning to the handle of a saw, almost as tall as himself.

The smaller photo is a portrait. It’s sepia toned like the passport shot, on thick cardboard. Sebastian has the same hair and looks just as young as in the passport. He poses next to another man; he is blond, Sebastian's height, and dressed in a sailor’s uniform. Haydn squints his eyes to read the thin golden print on the foot of the card. _I. Johnson, New York._

“Many immigrants got themselves photographed once they got to the new land,” Zykov says.

“The airport selfie of its time,” Williams chuckles.

The last item that Williams has taken out of the large envelope is a smaller, thin envelope. It is addressed to Finland – that is all Haydn and Noah are able to make out of the old cursive. Williams carefully unfolds the paper from inside, shaking his head at the writing.

“I can’t read any of this. Can you?” He shows it to Zykov who eyes at quizzically and finally shakes his head. “No. It must be Finnish.”

“Well, I know people who can. Can I take this?” he asks. “You’ll get it back. Or I can take a pic and leave you the original.”

Noah looks at Haydn who nods.

“Sure, go ahead,” Noah says.

“Anything that helps you shed some light on this,” Haydn adds.

 

* * *

 

Maybe it would have been easier if their first encounter with Mrs. Brown hadn’t been Sebastian blowing Teuvo in her pantry. But how were they supposed to know that the cook of their logging camp would be back from shopping in the sawmill town so soon?

They had had less trouble on the smaller camp further in the woods, although the living conditions hadn’t even nearly matched those of the main camp. They started off staying in tents, later in bunker-like little huts that didn’t really keep the cold out but cramped and uncomfortable sleeping conditions were something they both were used to. The food was often served cold on those days it was hauled from the kitchen, and less tasty on the days they had to cook for themselves, but it gave enough energy to fuel the day’s work. And the work – it was strenuous, dangerous if you didn’t pay attention, but so had all their former jobs been.

Naturally Teuvo thought that merging with the main camp, as the rest of the logs from their original site had been hauled out, would make life easier.

 

It might have if the matron hadn’t hated them with a passion.

“God does not want me to host sodomites under my roof,” she hissed from between bitten teeth, “Next strike and you’re out. Let me never witness a hint your filthy sins anymore.”

They tried their best, laid it low, kept their cool, focused their minds towards work. And work, yes – sometimes it was easier to steal a moment for a couple of kisses out in the woods.

 

The worse thing was that Mrs. Brown’s hostility towards them spread over time among some of the men.

Alcohol was strictly prohibited on the camp, but on the first Saturday of every month the men were allowed to take company horses to go out on the town, drink and dance their hearts and hard-earned dollars out.

That day, Teuvo hadn’t felt too well and had stayed in; Sebastian wanted to mail a letter home and maybe stay for a couple of beers with their closest workmate Jordan Staal, who also preferred to come back to the camp early.

“I’ll celebrate when the season is over and I get back home,” Jordan used to say. He was a son of a farmer who took logging jobs on the side once the harvest season was over and there was less work at home.

 

Teuvo was almost drifting into a feverish sleep when he heard loud banging and hollering on the door.

“Teuvo! Teuvo!” it was Jordan’s voice, out of breath and hasty.

Teuvo climbed out of his bunk and hurried to the door. He opened it, and Jordan all but dragged Sebastian in under his arm, supporting him with both hands. A cut under Sebastian’s lip dripped blood on the front of his shirt and a crimson bruise around his eye was certainly starting to get a violently black and blue shade.

“Those sons of bitches,” Jordan panted, as Teuvo helped him get Sebastian down on his bunk. “Sebastian went out before me, and they had got out of the whorehouse and just plain attacked him, the fucking cowards, three on one… He was on the ground, and they ran away when they saw me coming. But I know who they are. When they show up – they’d better not, because –“ Jordan huffed, clenching his fists, hitting his massive thigh to give weight to his words.

“Don’t beat up anyone, Jordan,” Teuvo pleaded. “Thanks for getting him here.”

He wiped Sebastian’s forehead with his hand, turned to his rucksack to search for a clean handkerchief and when he found one, gently tapped Sebastian’s wound with it. “Oh, Sebastian. This fucking place. How long can we live like this? They’ll come out at you again. Or at me. If they won’t someone else will. And I’m sick and tired of hearing that woman tell what nasty shit her preacher would say to us. I can’t take this much longer. If I see you like this again, I’ll die. No, if I see you like this again, I’ll kill someone. I swear to God.”

“Teuvo,” Sebastian sighed, too worn out to do anything but squeeze the back of Teuvo’s free hand. “Don’t.”

“I know. I just feel so… powerless.”

Jordan looked between them, a bit puzzled, not understanding a word of their exchange but catching the tone. Teuvo turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry we got you involved, Jordan. I hope they won’t give you a hard time over this.”

Jordan frowned at him. “Don’t say that! I’m on your side on this. They have no right. I have never had a problem with either of you, or of you together. Never.” He huffed out again and adjusted his sitting position, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees.

“Teuvo, Sebastian, listen,” he said, so pointedly both men turned their attention to him. “You remember I’ve talked about my brother? The one who lives in the States, way down south, in North Carolina? Eric?”

“Yes?”

“He has a tobacco farm and a boarding house. They have, I mean. And he’s lately been telling that they are looking for farm hands, and help with the house. I’ve seen how you work and I could write to them and put in a good word for you in case you are interested.”

"In moving south?” Teuvo asked. “Tell me more.”

“Well, my brother bought the farm some ten years ago with another Canadian boy. Jeff. The neighbors say they are two confirmed bachelors, but I think even they know the real deal. I have never seen a husband and wife more loving and devoted to each other than they are.” Jordan smirked. “You’d love it there.”

 

* * *

 

**North Carolina, December the 24th, 1917**

__

_**Dear Ma, Pa, folks at home,** _

_It know it’s not long since I sent my last letter to you, the one along with the Christmas gifts, but this season makes me emotional and gets me to think of my family. It makes me think of Finland, too. We so rarely get snow here at all and I miss it. I rejoiced the news of our independence, but am alarmed by what I hear about the food shortage and restlessness. I hope the contents of my parcel were of help to you._

_There is something I have wanted to tell you for a long time but I have not found the right words. Maybe I have also been a little afraid of how you will feel. It is stupid on my behalf to think so, because happy news should not cause distress._

_I accidentally found the word I have been lacking – family. You have been concerned about my settling down, getting married and having a family instead of remaining a bachelor._

_You shouldn't. I have a family. I have had the dearest family I could think of ever since I set my foot on this continent. I don't know if you have read it between the lines so I should say it on them: Teuvo is more than a friend to me. He is my companion in everything, my rock and my shelter. If law allowed it, he would be my spouse because I can't think of anybody I could ever love more than I love him. We work well together in every aspect of life, we share everything. We trust each other. We understand each other. We care for each other. I am most fortunate to have found such a love at such a young age and to have had him by my side for all these years._

_Moreover, he is not the only family I have here. The owners of this farm, Jeff and Eric, are so much more than employers to us. They give us a fair share of the profit of the farm. But what is perhaps even more important is that they took us under their wing from the start, giving us a chance to have a happy home where we can live out of harm's way, never fearing scorn or ridicule. You must know how essential it is in life, to be able to throw your arms around your loved one, to take their hand when you are resting from the day's work by the fireplace._

_I know this will reach you late, but I wish you a merry Christmas and a Happy New Year._

 

_Yours,_

_Sebastian_

 

* * *

 

A week passes. Then another.

Haydn sleeps on some nights, most are still a haze, albeit less painful than before.

After two weeks, Williams calls.

"I found out more of our Sebastian. Are you ready?"

They sure are.

 

“Where do I start? Oh, I got the translation of the letter,” Williams tells. “It’s here, if you want to look.”

He takes a sheet of paper out of the folder and hands it to Haydn and Noah. When he notices Haydn's eyes gleaming with something damp the longer he reads, he respectfully looks away.

"And, this was enclosed in the envelope. I didn't notice it before."

He puts a black and white photograph on the table. Haydn and Noah recognize the same men that posed in the photo they saw earlier. In this one, they are older: Sebastian's convex eyelids droop a little and he has a few lines around the eyes; Teuvo's blond hair is a bit thinner on top, and he has gained some extra on the waistline.

They sit on the stairs of the front porch of their house, Teuvo on a lower stair, Sebastian's arms around him.

They look - happy. Loving, content, safe.

 

“I had a hit with Sebastian's name in an archive in Finland. The data of the manifest of his ship is archived in a database hosted by an institution called the Migration Institute," Williams tells.

"What about the other guy?" Noah reads the name on the translation again - "Teuvo? Did you get anything more about him?"

"Well, yeah. I haven't had the time to look into him deeper, but there was a sailor called-" Justin Williams checks his papers "- Teuvo Teravainen on that same ship. I assume he left the ship with this guy he found on board."

"That's wild," Noah says. "Quite a love story."

Williams nods. "Right." He rocks on his chair and gives Haydn and Noah a pointed look.

"Want to hear something else that is wild? Sebastian's relatives, the descendants of his siblings, have donated the letters received from America to the institute. I didn't have all of them translated, it would have been hella expensive, but a contact of mine searched for this one, and it is not among them. It must be an actual unsent letter. Maybe he was afraid to tell, after all. But I know they are still alive, those relatives. They are old, though, but their children are probably in better health. I actually even have some e-mail addresses, in case you're interested.”

 

“Do you think we should contact the relatives?" Haydn asks Noah after Williams has left. "How would they feel about having a secret grey gand –“ Haydn pauses “— Gay great grand-uncle? Shit, how hard is it to get it right?”

“You mean how would they feel about hearing their ancestor found a safe haven, a lasting love and lived happily ever after? I think they’re ready for it.”

“You’re right, Noah.”

“I always am.”

“Let’s write them. First thing in the morning.”

 

* * *

  

Noah watches Haydn. The room bathes in the morning light but not even the rays of the golden sun bother his boyfriend’s peaceful slumber.

Clock strikes eight, Haydn’s eyelids flutter but don’t bat open, it’s only a rippling little movement brought in by dreaming.

Clock strikes nine, Haydn turns from his back to his side, a drop of drool streaming down to the pillow from the corner of his mouth.

Just before ten Noah gets up to make coffee. It’s the first time in ages since Haydn is normally the one up first, fed up trying to stay in bed and catch sleep.

He comes back upstairs with a steaming mug and holds it near Haydn’s face. Haydn’s nostrils twitch, he blinks his eyes open and stretches his arms, an indulgent, relaxed smile warming up his face.

“Sleep well?” Noah asks softly.

“Better than ever.”

 

* * *

 

¤ THE END ¤

  

**Author's Note:**

> More information about the homophobia and assault tags:  
> Two male characters are called sodomites and accused of sin on a 19th century logging camp. One of the characters is attacked and beaten and it is implied that this is due to his sexual orientation. The assault is not described in detail, it is told about second-hand, by an eye witness and helper.  
> The passage where this happens is towards the end of the fic. It starts with "It might have if the matron hadn’t hated them with a passion." and ends before "Teuvo, Sebastian, listen,”.
> 
> \--
> 
> Thank you for reading! I appreciate all comments and kudos a great deal.
> 
> \--
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as caixxa and badhockeymom.


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